OnOff
by newvagabond
Summary: Ratchet/Knock Out. Non-con. Tinkering. Torture. Some mech gore. This isn't exactly a sexy one. I wanted to write these two and it felt like a good opportunity to do something darker. Play with Knock Out's twisted side because clearly he likes this shit.


**A/N: Ratchet/Knock Out. Non-con. Tinkering. Torture. Some mech gore. **

Uhh. Yeah. This isn't exactly a sexy one. I wanted to write these two and it felt like a good opportunity to do something darker. Play with Knock Out's twisted side because clearly he likes this shit.

I'll write something sexy to make up for this.

* * *

Ratchet awoke with a start, vents jamming as he choked. Optics swirled around, vision swimming and fuzzy and melted. Disoriented, he shuttered his optics closed for a moment. His sensors detected energon. And smoke.

"Ah, there you are."

What? Where was he? He opened his optics, and the magma started to form together. He cycled in and out until the red shapes became one.

"You take a long time to come out of stasis, old timer," Knock Out said with a handsome grin.

No. Ratchet lurched forward. His servos were yanked back, chains clanking loudly. It was then that he felt pain. First in his arms. Shaking, hyperventilating, he turned his optics all around and landed on the tray next to the berth. There his cyber scalpels sat, covered in energon. Burned. Wires mangled. And there were his doors, too, on the floor. And his grill!

He became aware of a raw feeling to his frame. A bareness. When he gathered the strength to look down at himself, his tank flip-flopped. And he was certain of this because he _saw_ it.

No, no, no. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be. The last thing he remembered was Optimus reaching for him and...

He lurched up again and found a small, taloned hand pressed to the white V of his chest pate, which was still attached. "You already tried that," Knock Out chided with optics at half-mast.

The pain was building now, burning him from the inside and Ratchet felt energon dripping from his plating. He flexed, twisted his arms and legs in their restraints, vision swimming again in agony, denta grinding.

"I know it hurts." Knock Out said, sounding anything but sympathetic. "Lord Megatron forbids the use of anesthetics on prisoners, sorry to say. Your pain receptors are working just fine."

The red 'con wheeled a chair over and kept his hand resting there on Ratchet's upper chest. He slid it down after a moment, until his talons detected a rhythm vibrating in the air. "Hold still for a moment," he instructed, and Ratchet felt sick, he knew his spark chamber was only thinly veiled at this point. Knock Out was looking at his wrist HUD, and seemed to be counting. "Strong spark you've got for an older mech."

Ratchet ground his teeth again. "Get f-fragged."

Now Knock Out's ridges rose and the hand rose to his own chest in mock offense. "Whoa, now. Is that any way to talk to a fellow medic?"

"Y-You're no m-medic," Ratchet spat. The pain was making it hard to breathe now, and his tank keened loudly for sustenance.

Knock Out smiled. "I have more work to do. Which means you'll need more energon," he said, a lazy tone to his vocals. Without waiting for Ratchet, he reached into his abdomen and pressed a syringe to an exposed energon line. Ratchet coughed and noted a little clarity to his vision. "That might take the edge off. Thank me later."

And indeed his arms seemed to numb and his shaking was no longer of pain alone. The bare feeling stayed. He could feel cool air against his circuits. His inner cables, usually protected by overlaps of thick plating, pulsed with energon. Optics rolled sluggishly to the Decepticon who had stood and was organizing tools on another tray.

"Lord Megatron asks so little, really. Remove weapons and disable firewalls. Haven't done that yet, don't worry," he chattered, examining a small drill. He lifted it with a claw and spun it a few times. "But that's so _boring_. Everything here is _boring_."

He sat on the chair again. "As a medic, you must understand my thirst for knowledge."

Ratchet's optics went wide and before he could react, the small drill was resting against his helm, above his audial lever. "Don't move," Knock Out warned.

Everything became a blinding blue and it was very clear when the drill had punctured his helm. Ratchet hadn't realized he'd screamed until he felt his vocalizer crackle from the strain.

"I'm n-not going to t-talk," he rasped.

Knock Out detached the orange audial lever and Ratchet's hearing became a trifle distorted. The Decepticon sat up so Ratchet could see his face. "Talk?" He set the audial down and Ratchet felt ill seeing it on the tray. "I already told you, I'm just doing as Megatron ordered."

There was that damn hand on his chest again. Plus a little extra, Knock Out thought. He couldn't promise Megatron wouldn't interrogate the 'bot later. It would be handy if he was allowed to take him apart completely. Those tires could come in handy. Talons clicked against collar. Hovered where doors and grill would be. Rested finally atop chassis. Another smile.

"But I'm here for knowledge. Like I said."

Ratchet's optics were burning with confusion and—he understood and braced his legs. Knock Out just watched him for a moment, crimson optics melting with curiosity. He stroked the back of his claws over a few circuit boards and Ratchet was quick to squeeze his eyes shut and turn his helm away.

"Awww," Knock Out moaned, releasing his hand and pouting. "You don't want to watch? Wouldn't it be fascinating to see your own insides? You'll never get another chance like this."

The Decepticon curled his talons against Ratchet's faceplate, forcing him to face him. Ratchet was trying his best to keep his optics closed. The red grounder scratched his cheek hard enough to draw energon—Ratchet's optics snapped to him, wide, scared.

"Hmm. So blue. Azure, I'd say." Knock Out was close. His energy field stroked Ratchet's in experienced tendrils. Ratchet mournfully logged that the hack of a medic was probably a really good frag. He sucked in air and sealed his field in tight.

Knock Out noticed, of course, and gently touched the 'bot's cheek plate. "Imagine how you'd look in red."

Now Ratchet's mouthplate went thin. "I w-would rather be scrap than become a Decepticon."

Knock Out just hummed and traced a claw over that stubborn Autobot mouth and Ratchet didn't miss the way he licked his own mouth.

"Well, if your processor's made up about that, then at least I can get one step out of the way," he vocalized, dark, hungry. He shifted up to feel at the hole he'd drilled earlier. "Optics take so long to cool. You have to offline them for at least a few micro-cycles before extraction. What's your method?"

Ratchet rattled in fear, turning his helm away. But Knock Out was quick and held him with a tight, clawed grip as a warning. The Autobot medic saw something sharp gleaming in the enemy's servo. His chest—or what was left of it—twitched in an attempt at ventilation.

He felt the tool enter his helm. Clink against a panel inside. "You didn't want to watch anyway," Knock Out reminded before twisting the tool.

In less than a nano-klik, Ratchet's vision went from startlingly bright, to devoid of any color, and then—nothing. He could feel the static as the light faded. Feel the heat leaving his optics. Feel the tool slip out like nothing.

He shook, turning his helm, trying to shutter or cycle or flush, anything, any response. No, he hadn't wanted to watch Knock Out play with him like some kind of medical dummy. But not being able to see _anything_ now—it was far more terrifying not to have the option. He wouldn't know where Knock Out was looking. Where he was reaching. What tool he was picking.

Knock Out's engine revved at the sight of Ratchet in the grips of terror and again he gently stroked a circuit board, almost like he was trying to soothe his fellow doctor. "Medic to medic, what's your favorite part of surgery?" he asked, bumping fingertips against tiny nodules on the board. Ratchet felt the tingle and halted his ventilations.

"Of course there's the drilling," Knock Out continued, picking at a few components and watching Ratchet twitch. "Taking off plating is fun..." He dug a claw under a tiny integrated circuit and then extracted it like it was a tick. Energy rippled inside to the circuits, systems sensing danger.

"Welding is fun too though." He scratched the board hard enough to damage every component and held it there as the energy now crackled. Ratchet's arch was clearly of pain. But Knock Out's audials picked up a delightful little click followed by whirring. He chuckled now, and Ratchet turned his head uselessly, loathing the sound.

The Autobot's spark was spinning loudly and Knock Out didn't need to use his scanner to know that energon pressure was strong. Talons wrapped around a cable, feeling the thrumming life force within. He squeezed once and to his excitement, Ratchet's strength was starting to dwindle. His orange and white frame shuddered in pleasure. Heat was building, and it was more intense with cold air pricking his exposed circuits.

"There, no need to be shy," Knock Out drawled, pleased at the reaction. He squeezed the cable again, pausing a nano-klik between each compression. And he couldn't help but caress that sensitive little circuit board again.

Ratchet's legs shifted. His own engine stuttered and choked and finally—he moaned.

"Mm. More?" The 'con tickled the nodules, the connectors. He knew the power of disrupting these circuits. They were delicate, to be treated very gently during operation. A mech's system was programmed to want to protect them. And so any little scratch sent energy rushing, calling for help, and then echoing back.

But for every bit of pleasure, he was sure to break another part. Scrape a fluid line. Disrupt wiring. Pain for pleasure and pleasure for pain.

He gripped the energon cable now tighter and did something that would make any sensible medic shriek malpractice; he shifted his claws under the circuit to deliberately strain its connectors.

Ratchet's HUD, which surprisingly still functioned, sent panicked messages to his processor. Knock Out claws gripped and scratched, feeding off of the static transfer into his servos and enjoying its travel up his arms until it fizzled out.

Impressive, Knock Out thought. He wondered who Ratchet usually reserved such moans for. He would've loved to take the circuit play further, but there was work to do. Ugh. As he reached back to grab something square, he noticed the weight to Ratchet's helm.

"Not done," he vocalized, tapping the older medic's helm to discourage any dozing off. Circuit virgin, probably. Wow, at his age? "Firewall time."

Ratchet, despite having size on the other, shrank on the berth. He jerked when he felt a servo on his side, where for some reason his interface panel was still intact. Cover and all. Knock Out opened it and Ratchet desperately pulled away.

"Oh, come on. Really? You're missing half your plating and your optics are cooling for harvest, and you're afraid of having your firewalls removed?"

Knock Out snorted and inspected the panel. "Hm. It's been awhile, so forgive me if my calibrations are a bit off," he said, pressing buttons on the small device in servo. He pulled a cable from it, and without any teasing popped it into Ratchet's interface port.

Audials detected a clear _ping!_ It was a sound far too cheerful for what the device was built for. It took practice and skill to remove firewalls from a Cybertronian. Of course Ratchet knew the procedure. A few different ways, in fact. And such a practice was... considerably grey. But he was an Autobot. His spark would remain as such until the day he offlined.

Optimus... would be proud.

"No," he said suddenly to no one in particular, voice heavy with static.

Knock Out didn't look up from adjusting his device. _Ping!_ "No?" he echoed. "I haven't even started. I guess I'd better just hit the ground running."

All Ratchet heard before it began was a few soft clicks.

Energy flooded every corner of his frame. Attacked his systems. Made his processor go fuzzy. It almost felt like being refueled; a sudden feeling of returned stamina, clarity, strength. He felt his firewalls surging up strong, ready to defend.

And then it turned, like poisoned energon. Heat prickled at his servos and pedes. Coiled in his center. He writhed on a bed of flames, every circuit scalded by the heat. It was too much, a disproportionate charge, artificial and raw.

And it hurt. Everything hurt.

But it he ached. He throbbed now. For—release.

His processor couldn't tell the crackles of static apart. That one was painful. That one felt good. So good. It came in waves now, the energy. Crashing over his sensornet, licking fire over every defenseless circuit.

Knock Out's energy field was wild against him, more of a grating rush now than a caress. He tried with all his might to keep his own coiled inside still. The Decepticon pulled, energy dipping in and coaxing and so good.

Primus.

A low moan escaped him then, and he could've sworn he could sense Knock Out's gaze on him. To his surprise, the twisted medic hadn't uttered a word yet. And again to his surprise, a claw suddenly slammed over his chassis, fingers flexing excitedly.

Cooling fans roared. Spark screamed.

Overload fried him in a searing flash, frame seizing up painfully. Knock Out, curious as ever, was dipping his claws into remaining seams for a taste of that static.

And it didn't stop. There was no break, no time to cool down and breathe. His engine stuttered painfully, fans creaked from the strain. The energy kept going, kept shaking him from within. He pushed and pushed for his firewalls to stay strong.

The charge cycled up harder thanks to Knock Out. "Strong," he complimented as he upped his little device.

Ratchet reeled. He scrambled for something to hold on to—no. Not Knock Out. His fingers twitched alone at the edge of the berth. He'd lost control of his field after the overload and it reached for Knock Out like a newspark desperate for contact.

The next overload left him gasping, and he heard Knock Out click his glossa, likely worrying his machine wasn't going to do the trick.

"Almost there, Ratchet," the Decepticon purred. Hearing his designation like that made him feel filthy.

Up the flow went again and Ratchet vocalizer melted into complete static as his processor turned to goo. It didn't help that Knock Out wanted to touch every damned panel and nodule accessible to him.

It seemed he was getting impatient because after less than a klik of this he unleashed a full charge, and Ratchet thrashed. Everything was in a spasm. Everything was out of his control.

He couldn't do it anymore. His firewalls shattered. He mourned silently when his servo latched onto Knock Out's arm, clutching, grasping as now his systems overloaded painfully, overtaken by foreign energy, torn from his protoform.

Something broke inside. He felt fluid. His filters choked on smoke and charge.

He could hear his surgeon's grating ventilations. Still feel his field painfully against his own, which was weak and flickering out.

"Wow," Knock Out chuckled. He unplugged his device and rested his palm against his patient's sore panel. "If that's how strong everyone else's firewalls are, then..."

Ratchet couldn't see Knock Out's smile fade into a small gape of surprise. Suddenly he felt a claw under his optic, and... wetness. He hadn't even noticed. It was probably the last of his cleanser reserve. Expelled when his system couldn't sense his optics anymore. That was the lie he told himself.

Knock Out was silent for far longer than was comfortable. Ratchet remained still as a mouthplate closed over his own. Still as his HUD panel was opened, and a line plugged in to induce stasis.

Without firewalls, there was nothing stopping them from sweeping his systems now. He thought of the others. He thought of Optimus.

Everything got quiet. The pain started to fade.

He wondered what else he'd be missing when he next onlined.


End file.
